Collateral Damage
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Romantic Suspense with H/P. When Hotch is ran off the road and attacked two blocks from a certain teammate's condo, they're forced to go on the run....but they can't run from the feelings they instill in each other. SUSPENSE. ADVENTURE. DRAMA. ROMANCE.
1. Chapter 1

(I changed things to better fit the current timeline—and I deleted Jordan! I still don't know when I'll finish, but I intend to!)

3:00 A.M.

The knock woke her from a sound sleep--and jerked her out of an erotic dream featuring warm sand and a tall, dark man whose face hadn't been revealed to her. Yet. She had been hoping it would during this dream. She dreamed of him often--and the things he did in those dreams was absolutely wonderful.

Still, nobody knocked on Emily Prentiss's door at three in the morning without damned good reason, so she struggled out of the warm bed and shivered in the cool air of the room. She wasn't happy when she made her way to the front door.

Peering through the peephole, she cursed, using a term more likely to come of Morgan Morgan's mouth than hers and jerked open the door. "Hotch!"

OUCHOUCH

Aaron Hotchner hurt. All over. He hurt so badly that looking at the rumpled woman in front of him was nearly impossible. But he did it, and then promptly fell into her arms. "Close the door, Prentiss, before they find me!"

"Close the door, hell, Hotch--we need to get you to the hospital!" Her eyes were wide, big, and dark, and he almost smiled at the puppy-dog quality of them. Only the worry stopped him.

"Who?" She followed his order, closing and throwing the deadbolts. She returned to his side, helping pull him up and over to the barstool. He clutched the counter to steady himself. "What the hell happened to you? Have you called the police? Dave?"

"Ran off the road, pulled from the vehicle." He gasped out the words as she flittered around him, pulling a first aid kit from beneath her sink, washing her hands, dabbing at the blood. She moved around him so quickly it was making him even more dizzy. He reached out a hand and held her still.

"Where?" She demanded, more frazzled than he'd ever seen her. It reminded him of the last--and only--time he'd been in her home. She'd been nervous of him then, too. But not like this. Then she'd been defensive, ready to fight. Now, she was just concerned, worried. About him. Her hand was gentle as it dabbed at the cut over his eyebrow.

"Three blocks over. Four men."

"Any clue why?" She pulled back to look up at him, chewing on her bottom lip after she spoke. "Did they follow you here?"

"A case, UNSUB with a grudge, from five years ago. Organized crime and connections." Hotch's breath hissed out as she covered the cut with antiseptic and placed a bandage over it.

"Grudge against just you? Any particular reason why?"

"And Morgan, probably Reid and JJ as well. I can't remember if they worked on it, too. They were both here, but I can't remember."

"We need to warn them!" Emily's hand went toward the phone on her counter, but Hotch grabbed her wrist.

"We can't. They specifically said they're watching them. The real target is me, it was my testimony that was the final nail." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she helped him stand. She staggered a bit under his weight and he shifted. He'd never realized how thin and frail she actually was. Her presence on the job, her confidence in her abilities, all made her seem....bigger...than she really was. He filed that away for later consideration.. "If we keep them busy chasing after me, they'll leave them alone."

"You hope." Emily said, grimly. Hotch realized then that he'd made her a target by coming here. He'd have to live with it if something happened to her.. He moved to stand, then. He should leave, keep these bastards as far away from her as he could get them. "But what about Dave and me? Garcia? Do they know about the rest of us?"

"I don't know. But I needed help, and your place was closest. I'm sorry if I've gotten you involved. I'll leave."

"Don't be stupid, or noble, Hotch." She gave him a chiding look, the same one he'd seen her give Morgan and Reid when they'd needed it. "You need help and I'm here. That's what a team does for each other. Let me go change, while you decide what we are going to do. And, do not think of leaving without me--or I'll hunt you down, the rest of the team in tow."

Hotch knew by her tone there was only one appropriate response. "Yes, ma'am."

**********

7:00 A.M.

Aaron Hotchner was asleep in the passenger seat of her Roadster. His dark head rested against her window, and the softest of breaths passed through his lips.

But it wasn't the Hotchner she was used to seeing--this Hotch was dressed in faded jeans she'd found in the back of her closet--leftovers from an ex she'd tossed shortly after moving to the BAU, one of Morgan's football t-shirts she'd borrowed and never returned, and David Rossi's ballcap, that the older profiler had left when he'd been commandeered to help her paint her den. Hotch looked nothing like Hotch, and that was the point. No one who saw this weekend quarterback would tie him to straight-laced, suited, buttoned-down, icy Aaron Hotchner, Esq.

Emily wore jeans as well, a pair so faded they looked fit only for Goodwill. She'd topped it with a brightly colored t-shirt and a black leather jacket.

They looked like any other couple out on a romantic weekend drive. Or so she hoped.

So there she found herself driving up the interstate toward the Canadian border--why that way, she wasn't sure--with her sleeping supervisor behind her.

But she hoped he'd wake up soon to explain to her exactly what they were doing.

Until then, she'd just drive.

**************

9:00 A.M.

There were police officers in the BAU, Morgan saw as soon as he exited the elevator. And they were in Dave's office. Something was up--way up.

Morgan did a quick head count. Reid, present at his desk, Baby-girl and JJ, waiting at the rails--looking at him worriedly, Dave--in long discussion with said officers. Hotch's office--completely dark.

Emily's desk--completely undisturbed. Emily always beat Morgan to work. Always. And Hotch? Well, Morgan half-thought the other man never left the BAU.

He picked up his desk phone and dialed. Home, cell, then home and cell again.

"Supergirl isn't answering, is she?" Garcia asked, sidling closer. He reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder in comfort.

"No. Voice mail at the condo, phone turned off for the cell."

"Emily never turns off her cell." Reid said, hanging up his own phone. "And Hotch isn't answering either."

"What are the odds those two are together?" Garcia asked.

"The odds that those two--always the first here--are both late on the same day? The same day we have the locals in the BAU?" Morgan asked, grimly. "Something's not good."

Dave came out then, followed by the two officers. "Everybody, conference room, now!"

The team quickly complied. Dave took one look at them and paled. "Where's Emily?"

"Don't know." Morgan said, hands rising to rest on both Garcia and JJ's shoulders. "What's going down, man? Where's Hotch?"


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

_(Boodikka is a fictional character featured in comic books published by DC Comics. Boodikka is a tall, well-muscled humanoid alien female with pink skin and reddish black hair. Her name is a play on the ancient British warrior-queen Boudicca.(Wiki)_  
_  
__Hal Jordan__—(__Green Lantern__ #2) He was given the power ring and battery (lantern) by a dying alien named Abin Sur, whose spaceship crashed on Earth. Abin Sur used his ring to seek out an individual who was "utterly honest and born without fear" to take his place as Green Lantern. Jordan became a founding member of the __Justice League of America__ and as of the mid-2000s is, along with __John Stewart__, one of the two active-duty Lanterns in Earth's sector of space.(wikipedia)_

"We've been placed on administrative leave." Dave told the rest of the team. "Hotch's personal vehicle was found around three this morning. Blood on the interior, no sign of Hotch. DC police want to question all of us, then Strauss has given the orders for us to vacate until he's found and this is resolved."

"So we're just supposed to twiddle our thumbs? What about…" Morgan demanded angrily.

Dave interrupted. "I think the best thing we can do right now is make sure Emily is getting over her flu, her and Jack. And wait with them. Morgan, you first with the police. Then Garcia, Reid, and JJ."

Morgan nodded, Dave's unstated orders understood.

Two hours later, Hayley Hotchner opened her front door to find five Bureau agents on the front steps of the house she used to share with Hotch. Dave quickly explained the situation, and the BAU team commandeered Hotch's former dining room table. Fifteen minutes after that Will—and baby Henry—rushed in.

JJ immediately took her son and cuddled him closer. Then briefly explained what they knew to Will. The rest of the team waited impatiently for Garcia to finding something.

"Baby girl." Morgan said, as he watched over Garcia's shoulder. "Isolate the intersection, then go aerial."

"Sure thing, sugar." Garcia's fingers flew over the keys and a schematic of the neighborhood appeared on the screen.

"Now, highlight Monument Drive, Monument Palace Apartments." Morgan ordered. The building in question flashed with bright orange light. "Shit. He was two blocks from Emily's condo."

"He probably went there for help." JJ said, eyes frightened, as she burped little Henry.

"Garcia, any chance you can get us any footage for either the intersection or Emily's building?" Dave asked.

Ten minutes later she'd managed to bring up the intersection in question, and the life traffic cam. She backhacked into the older data until finding Hotch's vehicle. They watched as Hotch was sideswiped and pulled from the vehicle. He fought hard, but it was apparent these bastards weren't weekend warriors. They were used to fighting, and they fought dirty. It was only determination and a passing car that gave Hotch the chance to slip away down an alley.

Everyone was grim when the segment was done playing.

"What about Emily's building?" Dave questioned. Nobody wanted to voice the possibility that those same bastards who'd done such a number on Hotch had gotten their hands on the smaller, more vulnerable Emily. She wouldn't have stood even half the chance. Especially after as much stress as she'd gone through just a few weeks ago with her friend dying and that priest being responsible. She'd lost weight, been more jumpy than usual.

"I can get you in Emily's building. I noticed the system was a common online digital system before. Will just take a few minutes." Garcia's face was grimly determined as she set about her task. Ten minutes and they had the hallway outside apartment 305.

They watched, breaths tight and drawn, as an obviously injured Hotch staggered from the elevator near Emily's door. He leaned his head against the wood for a good two minutes before pounding on the door.

It took an infinitely long time for the door to open. Only part of Emily was revealed, showing her dressed in boxers and a white tank top. She pulled Hotch inside and they both staggered. Then they saw the shadow of the door shutting.

"So then what?" JJ asked. "Why didn't they call for help? The police, the Bureau, one of the team, even?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they had good reason. " Dave said. "Fast forward. See if they left—or anyone else showed up. Make sure he wasn't trailed to Emily's."

Four hours of tape-time passed quickly as Garcia ran through the tape. At approximately a quarter before seven a man and woman left Emily's apartment.

"There they go!" Garcia said, drawing the room's attention. "Look! Where's Boodikka taking the Green Lantern? And what is she doing with her hand?"

"Those two weren't exactly peaceful toward each other—Hal Jordan cut off Boodikka's hand," Reid commented, leaning closer to the screen. "And it's numbers, I think. Play it again."

"Yeah, but those two were a bit hostile to each other for a while there. It seemed to fit." Garcia rewound the footage. "Watch."

"1. 4. 7. What was that?" Reid asked, as the camera-Emily gestured.

"I think it was the sign language for P." Hayley said, from where she sat quietly beside Dave. It was obvious the blond didn't know what to think of the invasion of her home. Jack was still sleeping, his mid morning nap.

" 147 P. Then 5274, and…?" Reid looked toward Hayley for confirmation.

"X."

"147P5274X." Garcia said. "That's a case number. An older one. PX Cases were from at least five years ago, if not more."

"Long before Emily joined the BAU." Morgan added.

JJ handed the baby to his father. "Emily must have known we'd break into her building's security."

"My girl's a smart cookie. One of the smartest women I've ever met." Garcia said, grimly proud.

Morgan nodded. "So why that case?"

Garcia turned toward the unacknowledged leader of their rogue case. "Agent Rossi, sir. I can access the case, but it'll leave a definite trail."

"Don't do that." Dave decided. "And Garcia, erase that tract of Emily giving us the numbers."

"You want me to tamper with evidence?"

"Circumvent. There's a reason why Hotch and Prentiss didn't contact us any other way. A reason why they didn't call the police or Bureau for help. Just erase it temporarily if possible. Buy them some time." Dave tapped his pen against the table. "As far as accessing the file, can you possibly hack Hotch's laptop?"

"Yes. I'm the one who designed his safeguards." Garcia turned back toward her screen. "Why?"

"Because Hotch keeps a master folder on his hard drive of all the cases he's worked on since joining the BAU." Dave said. "We need that information without being traced back to us."

"Gotcha. And in the meantime?" Garcia asked.

"In the meantime…we wait. Ball's in Hotch and Emily's court." Dave said.

"I just hope they know how not to drop it." JJ said


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Emily had to pee, Hotch was just going to have to deal with it. They'd been arguing for fifteen minutes, but Emily was driving, so she made the decisions. Simple. "Five minutes. In, restroom, snack, gas—unless you plan to push the Roadster, then we're gone."

Hotch's jaw clamped shut. His head hurt, and Obstinate Prentiss was making it much, much worse. She was no longer the consummate agent, following directives and appropriately respectful. No, give her control of the car and she became power-hungry. Insubordinate.

He hadn't realized he'd said the last word aloud until she turned to him briefly, before turning into a gas station parking lot. "I may be insubordinate, _sir_. But you know I am right. It won't be pretty if I don't get a bathroom break and a drink."

Hotch wavered between indignation and embarrassment that she'd heard him. Things had been changing between them—they'd become a bit more receptive to friendship in the last few months—but not enough that she should feel free to speak to him that way. Still—what could he do? Write her up for insubordination because she helped him make a break for it? He doubted that would go over real well—and he wasn't a brave enough man to even voice it aloud.

The attendant walked to Hotch's window after Emily opened the door. "How much, man?"

"What?" Hotch started, being jerked from his angry glare at his

subordinate's retreating figure. "Fill it."

He'd been fortunate that he had cash for Hayley's child support in his wallet when he'd been attacked. He didn't know how much Prentiss had on her, if any at all. That wasn't good. Credit cards could so easily be traced.

But he was sure she was aware of that.

Prentiss was an intelligent woman, and a well trained agent. He probably couldn't have asked for a better partner on this trip. So why did he always find himself feeling a bit irritated when he was with her? On edge? It had been that way with her for the last several months. Ever since Colorado. Hotch didn't quite know why.

"Dude, this is one hot car! And that is one hot woman!" The teenaged attendant leaned in slightly to peer at the interior of Emily's Roadster.

"Excuse me?" Hotch's brows rose.

"Dude, sorry. But she's one fine piece! Unless she's like your sister?" The kid backed up slightly.

"She's not my sister. And women don't appreciate being referred to as a 'piece'. Especially women like her." Hotch said, brows low and voice coming out menacingly. The boy backed up. It was the second time in less than a month that someone had made him aware of Agent Prentiss as an attractive woman. First that John Cooley and now a hormonal teenager. And…if he wasn't mistaken…the salesman type in line behind her inside the station.

The guy was getting pushy, Hotch realized, not taking no for an answer. He moved to open his door but Emily effectively diffused the situation. As she stalked back to the car he quickly cataloged her, to see if something about her had changed or if he had missed something all along. The jeans were old, but they fit her well, the bright shirt was eye-catching and figure flattering. And very low-cut. Lower than she normally wore. Hotch shifted. The black leather of her coat shouted rebel to him. He wondered how long she'd had it.

Her hair was up in a ponytail, higher than she normally wore it—it was almost…perky. Cute. She'd hidden her eyes behind designer sun-glasses. She gave off the impression of casual expensive, shouted to any man looking at her that she cost way too much for them to ever afford. Even on her dressed-down days.

Which made her all the more desirable.

It made one hell of a disguise for him, he realized, and wondered if that's what she had been after when she'd given him clothing to change into. Most attention would be on her, and the car, and not the man in a ball cap with her.

Emily Prentiss was a highly clever woman.

The attendant backed off, muttering about Hotch being a lucky bastard, as Emily returned to her seat behind the wheel. Hotch had to admit she handled the powerful car more than skillfully. Almost as if she'd never driven anything else.

Why did Superagent Prentiss have a wicked BMW? It was incongruous with the image he had of her.

"Ready?" She asked, firing up the engine.

He just nodded. "Head toward central Connecticut. I have a friend there who may let us stay at his place for the night."

"So what's our goal?" She asked.

"To stay one step ahead of these guys until I can regroup. And make contact with the trial lawyers on the case." Hotch said. "Avoid local law enforcement. Those guys who hit my car were familiar. I think I've seen them at the local PD. And not as cons."

"So we're on the run? From the PD, the Bureau, and the Irish mafia." Emily sighed. "You are certainly a dull companion, sir. I can say that for sure."

"Just drive." Hotch said, dimple flashing at her wicked drollness.

"Yes, sir."

HOTCHONTHERUN

Garcia was typing frantically at her computer, running every possible angle, trying to bypass the very systems she'd put in to place.

The credit card notification shocked the socks off of her when it pinged her inbox. "What the…? I think I know where they are! Or were!"

Everyone gathered around her quickly.

"Baby girl, what have you got?"

"My credit card was just charged for the amount of five hundred and twenty-seven dollars." She squeaked.

"And that ties in to Aaron how?" Hayley asked, frowning.

"Not Hotch. Emily has my backup credit card. For emergencies--whenever she sees a troll she knows I must have she buys it for me, and the credit card company does automatic notifications of my balance." Garcia practically squealed. "She's at a gas station in Connecticut!"

"Does it say what they bought?" Dave asked, moving to look at the screen.

"Let me pull up a receipt." A few more key clicks and the receipt, complete with Emily's distinctive scrawl across the bottom.

"It's definitely Emily's normal writing, no signs of undue stress. So she wasn't forced to make the withdrawal. They probably needed cash." Reid said, looking at the screen.

"And it could be a way for Emily to let us know where they're at. She would have known you'd be notified." Morgan said. "What all did they buy?"

"Candy bars—chocolate for Emily—sodas, bottled water, donuts. Snack foods. Bandaids, Neosporin. A newspaper." Dave read aloud. "Nothing that's too specific."

"Road trip food." Garcia said, emphatically. "Those are the exact kind of things Emily bought when we drove to Orlando last summer."

"Aaron probably would have bought crackers, trail mix." Hayley added quietly. "He's not much on donuts and soda."

"So it probably was just Emily in the store." Dave added.

"Question is, why were they in Connecticut?" Morgan asked.

"That's what Reid and I'll go figure out. The rest of you, get that case file and go over it with the finest toothed comb you have. There's a reason Emily gave us a case number that old. Find it!" Dave's tone gave no argument. There wouldn't have been one anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

The attendant remembered them, it was obvious to Morgan. He'd insisted on accompanying Dave to Connecticut. He was more experienced as a field agent then either Reid or JJ. And he and Emily were close—Dave hadn't objected much. He pushed the snapshots closer. In one, Emily laughed from a position between Reid and JJ. Morgan had snapped the photo with his cell the night JJ'd given birth. Garcia had cropped it and framed it to make Emily the focus for their investigation.

She looked happy and beautiful, and Morgan couldn't but be worried. It wasn't exactly anybody on their tale. The Irish Mafia could do some serious damage to their enemies, and they didn't stop to consider who might get hurt in the process.

If they wanted Hotch—they would go right through Emily. In any number of ways.

"Look again, boy. It's important. Have you seen either of these two individuals? Maybe a BMW Roadster came through here a while ago?" He shoved the photo of Hotch under the kid's nose. It was a coldly severe picture, that suited Hotch to a tee. "Silver, with tinted windows and black interior. She was probably driving?"

"They didn't look like that. But I remember the car."

"How did they look?" Dave walked up in time to hear the boy's remark.

"Not all business-y. Especially her. She had on this awesome leather jacket. Tight jeans. Little red shirt." The boy's words grew with enthusiasm. Morgan resisted the urge to smirk. Emily was old enough to be this kid's mother, yet here he was lusting after her because of a little red shirt. "He wasn't too friendly though. I think he had on a hat. He didn't get out of the car. But he paid me for the gas. Seemed in a bad mood."

"What did he say?" Morgan said.

"Just not to stay stuff about women. Said they didn't like it." The boy shrugged and looked away. "But he has to hear it all the time, with a girl like that. A car like that. He said she wasn't his sister when I asked. Did he do something? Is that why you're looking for him? You the cops or something?"

"No." Morgan and Dave shared a look. "We're good friends, and we need to get a hold of them. They were supposed to be going on vacation, but their cells aren't working. And it's important. Thank you for your help, man."

"Which direction did they go?" Dave asked.

"East. Back to the Interstate. I think. She drove kind of fast."

"Yeah, she does that." Morgan said.

"Hot car. Hot girl." The kid nodded. "I think they headed toward the interstate. I hope you find them, but I wouldn't count on it. That car was flyin' out of here. Was the car stolen? Is that what they did?"

RUNRUNAWAYRUNRUNAWAY!

Hotch's friend wasn't there, Emily realized as she pulled into the cabin's drive.

Hotch swore in such a low tone it had her looking toward him.

"Now what?" Emily was tired, and she knew it showed in her voice. She'd driven the whole way, her and Hotch going over what he remembered of the case, and him expressing his displeasure that she'd used Garcia's credit card.

She'd told him like it was—the only backup in the world they had on this was the team, and they needed some roundabout way to find them. She'd ended with "You can't always protect people, Hotch. Not when you need them most. I think we both know that."

He'd not had anything to say to that, and she'd ended with a bit of humor. "Besides, I have more experience, I'm sure, at being on the lam. I ran away at least three times in high school. And there was a certain road trip that I will never bring up again."

His curiosity had been peeked, she'd seen that and explained. "College. Summer of '94...Don't ask. You probably don't want to know."

He'd smiled at her, a small Hotch-smile, before giving her directions to their first stop.

Which led them to an empty cabin.

Dammit. Now what?

"I was hoping to switch vehicles. This is a very distinctive car." He said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Then find a place to crash. It's getting late."

"Hotel?" Emily yawned. "And come back in the morning?"

"I suppose that's all we can do. How much cash do you have total?"

"Five hundred courtesy of Garcia, plus whatever's in the lock box underneath your seat. Emergency stash. Probably another 1500."

"You travel with that much money in your car?" His frown was disapproving this time.

"I usually add to it whenever I break a larger bill. Never know when you're going to need some quick cash, sir. Case in point…" Emily shrugged. "And you?"

"Six hundred cash. Child support." His tone was rueful, as he rooted around beneath the seat and pulled out a lock box. She pulled a key out of the visor and handed it to him. He counted it quickly. "You have 2425 dollars in here, Emily. That's one hell of an emergency stash."

"I believe in being prepared."

"We don't know how long we're going to need this money to last." He said.

"So a no-tell motel? What will our friends think?" She sighed. "And will my car be there in the morning when we get up?"

"Just drive." His mouth quirked again, and he wondered why she was suddenly able to make him laugh in the midst of such a serious situation. He could have done worse, he decided, for a road trip companion.

Now if only the mafia wasn't on their tale.

NOWHERETORUNTOOHNO

Emily found the first hotel they came to. It actually frightened her, and she was glad she'd not be staying there alone. A recent case surrounding a no-account hotel kept flashing in her mind, complete with gory crime scene photos, and a victim's screams playing in her mind.

"Go in and get a room." He said. "Then we need to find a way to contact the others."

"Great." Her voice was hesitant. "Doesn't this place give you the creeps, just a little bit? Or have I watched too many scary movies?"

"Go."

"Yes, sir!" She said, cheekily. He fought a smile in return. It was good to see her sense of humor returning after her recent loss. "Be right back. I hope."

Hotch watched through the window as she registered. The clerk kept leering at her, looking down her blouse and obviously making suggestive remarks. He looked between her and the car, and Hotch moved, letting him see his shadow. Letting him know that she wasn't there alone.

It was abundantly obvious the type of clientele the place catered to, and it wasn't something he'd consider favorable.

It burned him, deeper than he thought it should, seeing the way the man leered at her.

Emily Prentiss was not the kind of woman a man brought to a place like this—for any reason.

And Hotch hated that he had.


	5. Chapter 5

In a much cleaner motel three hours away, Morgan and Rossi were getting settled for the night. Morgan's laptop was open on his bed as they prepared to video conference with Garcia and the rest of the team around Hayley's dining room table.

The blond ex-wife had been relegated to childcare duties, taking baby Henry upstairs as well. It wasn't something she was happy about—but she was the _least _qualified person to find her ex, and Reid had pointed that out to her.

"Now that Hayley's out of the room, should we send the elephant out as well?" Dave asked.

"Excuse me, sir?" Garcia asked via the screen.

"Simple. To find Aaron and Emily we're going to have to work three profiles." Rossi said.

"Three? Why?" JJ asked.

"Because Hotch and Emily react to each other differently than they do the rest of us. So we'll need to profile them individually and as a unit to see just exactly what they may do in any situation." Morgan said, slowly.

"How do they react to each other?" Will asked.

"There has always been some definite vibes between the two of them—not so good ones at times." Garcia said.

"At first they were really distrustful of each other." Reid said, "But they've changed a lot since then."

"They're more reserved with each other, but they work well together." Dave said. "But I don't think they trust each other with say the same level of comfort that there is between Emily and Morgan or even Emily and Reid."

"Why?" Reid asked.

"I think…" Rossi paused for a moment. "That _she _makes Hotch nervous. On a male/female level. And he isn't aware of it completely, so he reacts with slight hostility and mistrust."

"And I think she senses it on some level, and reacts as well." Morgan said. "And I don't think it's just on Hotch's side, either."

"I agree with Morgan." JJ said. "Plus, I've seen the looks they've sent in each other's directions the last few months."

"So…" Reid asked. "What will that mean?"

"Close proximity. Adrenaline. The team nowhere around. Neither one of them currently attached. Physical attraction." Morgan listed. "I know what would happen if I were Hotch."

"But you'd react differently." Rossi pointed out. "That's why we need three profiles."

"And we really shouldn't profile Hotch with Hayley in the room." JJ said.

"Talk about awkward." Garcia agreed. "So where do we begin?"

"With Emily. JJ and Garcia, this is where you'll come in. You probably know the most about her. You and Morgan." Rossi started. "What do we know about her?"

"Intelligent." Reid said. "Probably the smartest woman I've ever met. But she doesn't advertise that."

"Modest. Non-attention seeking. But we know that today, at least, she was dressed a bit more attention grabbing." Morgan said, "Why?"

"To deflect attention away from her companion. They must think that whoever is after Hotch doesn't know about her." Reid suggested.

"Plus, people will remember a 2006 M Roadster BMW. They are very limited cars." Will said. "And people see one, they'll remember it."

"And a beautiful woman will be more remarkable than a 40yr old man in jeans and ball-cap." Rossi said. "Good thinking on their part. But that car is going to be a liability."

Hayley returned then, and the conversation paused.

Rossi went on. "So we know that Emily is clever, resourceful, intelligent. What else?"

"Loyal and honest." Reid said. "Even the littlest bit of subterfuge bothers her—unless it's part of the job. But that doesn't mean she's not phenomenally good at it. She's a good strategist. Probably better than the rest of us in a lot of ways."

"The hints we've been given so far have been Emily's doing." JJ added. "The credit card, the security camera? She's more likely to call for backup when needed than anyone of you guys."

"So Emily's been calling the shots?" Reid asked. "I can't see Hotch letting that happen."

"Frankly. I think it is Emily. Hotch isn't really the type to run." Rossi said. "Garcia, did you find that case for us?"

"Still working on it, sir." The tech turned back to her computer, just as it started beeping. She clicked on an icon after drawing in a surprised breath.

A cartoon avatar appeared. It had dark hair, big dark cartoon eyes—complete with curling lashes, and wore a trench coat and fedora. A green feather boa was around her neck.

"Girl-chickie! You've got some serious 'splainin' to do!" Garcia squealed.

The cartoon spoke, and everyone crowded closer when they realized it was Emily's voice coming through the computer. "Hey, Garcia! You secure?"

"Yes. We're safe and sound at Hayley's. Rossi and Morgan are out looking for you guys. What on earth is going on? Hang on, I'm patching through to Morgan's computer, too."

Soon the cartoon was dancing around on Morgan's screen as well.

"I'm not entirely too sure of anything." The cartoon said, "What do you all remember about Phillip Joel O'Conner? Hotch said it had organized ties. He tried to piece together what he remembered, but I think the conk on the head is affecting him more than he's letting on. What has happened on your end?"

"Police were in the BAU." Morgan said. "Found Hotch's car. Nobody mentioned you. Dave spread the rumor you were out with the flu."

"Good." The cartoon actually crossed its arms and began pacing around on both Morgan and Garcia's screens. "Because Hotch thinks some of the local police are in on this."

"So what are you all doing?" Rossi asked.

"Trying to stay two steps ahead of everybody—bureau, and locals especially." The cartoon shrugged. "We don't know who's involved, or—other than you—who we can trust. Hotch says drive, so I drive."

"But for how long? Until the locals issue an APB for a silver BMW Roadster? That car doesn't exactly blend in to the woodwork, you know?" Morgan said.

"And once the locals get us, who knows who or what will happen." The cartoon said. "But we're across state lines, maybe that will buy us some time. He's asleep now. I'm going to take a nap then we'll hit the road again."

"How is he, Agent Prentiss?" Hayley asked, her tone hesitant.

"Stubborn. Obstinate. Cranky. Hotch." The cartoon whispered, and then shook its head. "Superficial injuries as far as I can tell. He'll be ok."

"Listen, girl. The O'Connor case was rife with losses. And this guy is bad news. Worse than his old man. Doesn't care who gets in the way. Collateral damage. If he wants Hotch, he'll go through anybody in the way." Morgan warned. "Especially you, if your found with him."

"Great. So any suggestions?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, run fast, watch your back…and Hotch's."

"Great. That's it. Drive, and Hotch-watch. I think I can do that." The cartoon's sigh echoed throughout the rooms. "I'm not exactly sure what we are doing next—Hotch's not exactly been forthcoming. I'm going to crash for a while now."

"G'night, jellybean." Garcia said. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Speaking of bugs," The cartoon muttered then jumped on screen. A big thud echoed through the speakers, sending JJ, Garcia, and Hayley jumping. "That spider has been eying me for the last fifteen minutes. You guys better figure this out before I'm bug food."


	6. Chapter 6

Hotch heard her sever the connection, then almost laughed when he heard her squeal as apparently another spider ran across her foot. He'd learned one thing early on in their association—Emily did not tolerate bugs well.

It was so…girly…of a thing, something so unexpected from her. But she killed her own bugs on this trip apparently. He'd listened to the conversation, curiosity keeping him quiet. He'd wanted to know what she was thinking about all of this. She'd called him obstinate, he'd heard that.

He thought that was a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, but he knew she was right. He _was _obstinate—especially when it mattered to him. But he'd learned another thing as well—Emily was a difficult road partner, insisting that she knew what was best.

They'd had any number of small arguments since leaving her apartment. But in a perverse way—Hotch hadn't had such a good, albeit adrenaline-filled, time in longer than he could remember.

He attributed that to his companion.

His companion who was currently mumbling to herself as she debated sleeping in the chair or shoving his ass to the floor. He'd really like to see her try that maneuver. He flipped on to his back, deliberately moving to the far side of the mattress. There was room enough for two, if she decided to camp out on the saggy, lumpy, slightly musty mattress.

"Spiders, leg cramps, or sleeping by Hotch." She kept debating aloud, and it…irked…him that she was seriously considering sleeping in a wooden chair instead of beside him. Slammed him right in his apparently awakening male ego.

Surely he was a better choice than a mess of spiders? After almost three years didn't she feel comfortable enough with him to choose him over a backache? It took him a moment to realize his feelings were actually hurt.

She trusted him to keep her alive, but not to sleep on the same bed?

"Ew!" She whispered, and he opened one eye to peek. She was shaking something off her hand, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was an arachnid. She shook her head, obviously coming to some decision. "If I'm over there—the spiders are just as likely to eat _him _as me. Of course, I was told to take care of Hotch…Dammit. This is not how I planned on spending my Saturday night."

Hotch felt the bed dip when she crawled on the mattress. He smelled the sweet scent of Emily's shampoo, distinctive blend of coconut and apricot, as she stretched gingerly out on the bed.

He'd never had a woman so…perturbed…at having to climb in bed with him—not even Hayley on one of her really angry nights. Of course, he'd never had a subordinate climb in bed with him at all. He shifted slightly, as her warm body bumped against his side. Even through the jeans she still wore—and Hotch's heart lurched imagining what it would be like if she'd removed them—he could feel her warmth. He could feel her, smell her.

Feelings he'd never had for Emily Prentiss were suddenly starting to well up in him. He flipped on his side, trying to put a bit of space between him and his _subordinate. _She froze, peeked over her shoulder at him, and he could see how wide her eyes had gotten as he peered at her through half-closed eyes. The neon hotel light was right outside their window, and the thin curtains blocked nothing. He could see her—he watched her bite her lower lip, nervous. "Hotch?"

He didn't answer, just fought to keep his breathing slow and even. He heard her exhale, and then felt her body relax slightly.

Her hair was near his chin. It was soft and silky. Her body was almost touching his, he realized. If he shifted just a little bit he'd be flush up against her.

Hotch's body shifted of it's own free will. She stilled again.

Had he ever been so _aware _of her? He moved his arm—he had to, the angle he had it at was cutting off the circulation, or so he told himself. He draped it around her waist, tucking it tight around her to keep her from falling off the narrow mattress.

He waited for her to breathe again—it took a while. She finally relaxed against him, her smaller body tucked tight against his chest. His knee settled between hers, their legs entangling. Her head rested on his other arm and he unconsciously curled around her even more.

He relaxed when he felt her body soften, signaling she'd finally lost the battle with sleep. He pulled her closer. It felt different, holding a woman other than Hayley, but he had to admit, it felt nice holding _Emily _against him.

And not just in a sexual way—although he wasn't lost to his body's physical reaction to having her so close. It was nice to not be alone. He was always alone anymore. That had been doubly reinforced when Hayley had left.

Hotch closed his eyes, pretending that he and Emily did this every night, that he wasn't an embittered, forty-year-old man who spent every night either in a hotel room, his office, or a completely sterile apartment four blocks from his office.

For just a little while, he pretended that the woman in his arms was his—and that he had a right to hold her this way.

A little while turned into a few hours. He lay there, listening to her breathing, the little sighs she made when she'd shift, or he'd move her closer. He felt her breath against his neck when they _both _shifted until he was on his back, and she was pressed against his side.

He played with her hair for at least forty minutes, frankly enjoying the strange interlude, the strange phenomenon of having SSA Emily Prentiss so unaware beside him.

He wondered what she was dreaming about. Wondered why she seemed content to sleep against him—wondered who she'd slept with before. How many...

At one point he played with the delicate fingers of her hand, running his much larger ones over her skin. Her palms and fingertips were slightly calloused. He found that fascinating, ran his pointer finger over the valley between each finger. She'd flexed her hand, catching his tight.

He'd left it there, held her hand until the next time she shifted.

The room got a little colder, and she moved impossibly closer. He tucked the blanket more firmly around her unconsciously.

He still didn't sleep.

Not for a long time.

He'd only been asleep for about half an hour when he heard a sound.


	7. Chapter 7

Hotch's first thought was for the woman beside him, he knew it took her a moment to wake fully. He covered her mouth with his hand before shaking her awake. She struggled at first, but must have recognized him, finally. She stilled. He lowered his hand.

"Get your things." He ordered, reaching behind him toward the bedside table. His gun rested there. Emily moved soundlessly, grabbing her computer bag and her coat. She slipped her feet into her shoes. Hotch moved toward the window, peering through the crack between the curtains as carefully as he could. He nodded toward the bathroom, and she picked up on his unspoken command.

He waited until he heard her slide the window open before he followed.

They'd parked the BMW in the back alley for this very eventuality. As he slipped out the window he heard her start the engine. Seconds later, he was in the passenger seat and she was maneuvering the vehicle out of the parking lot.

"What was it?" She asked.

"Two cops at the registration office. Too far away to tell if they were the ones who jumped me." He said, grimly. "But something in their manner shouted they were. And they had the right build. I wasn't going to take the chance."

"I agree with that." Emily said, as her hands skillfully maneuvered through the city streets toward the interstate. "So now what?"

"We need to find alternate transportation." He said. "Sooner or later, someone is going to go around your place asking questions. And this car is too distinctive."

"I say we head to New York. I can probably get us a car there." Emily said. "I have a friend there who'll help, plus we can park the car in a parking facility near the airport. Buy us some time. Then—well, that's up to you."

"You trust this friend?"

"As much as I trust Morgan or Dave." She said quietly. "Maybe even a little more. Stella's a kickass detective."

"A cop? I don't know about that, Emily."

"She's not involved in organized crime. And I've known her for nearly twenty years." Emily argued. "And Hotch—what other options do we really have?"

"Drive." Hotch's sigh told her he understood her point, but that he didn't have to like it.

"Apparently, sir, that's what I do best." She said, drolly, as she slipped the car into the next gear and increased the gas. "So hang on."

ZOOMZOOMZOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hotch unconsciously tensed, seeing the familiar New York skyline several hours later. The last time he'd been in New York he'd lost a woman who'd been a dear friend. And he could have lost the woman beside him, too.

He wondered why that hadn't really sunk in until just now? That case had probably been traumatic for her as well. But she'd never broke, not that he'd seen.

But if she'd been the first one around that corner—she'd have been the one lying bleeding on the cold pavement.

No, Hotch didn't want _either _of them back in New York.

Hotch hated it when his choices were taken away from him.

Emily was quiet; she'd not spoken to him for at least the last thirty minutes. He wondered about it. "You ok?"

"What? Oh, yes. Just remembering. I don't have too many good memories associated with this town." She admitted. "I doubt you do, either."

"No. although they're not all bad." He suddenly smiled. "I was there for Reid's first time in New York. He'd just joined the team, and of course, this was during his 'oh my god, it's a girl' phase with JJ."

"_During? _When I joined the team, he was still in that phase." Emily laughed. "Go on."

"Case involved nightclubs and we split up. Morgan was out, pulled hamstring doing heroics—"

"Go figure." Emily snickered.

"So JJ and Gideon went to one bar. I took Reid into the other." Hotch kept his voice flat, knowing that half the story was the presentation. "We were doing routine questioning when this guy comes up to Reid and is very obviously hitting on him."

"Oh my God. Poor Reid."

"Poor Reid?" Hotch snorted. "Hell, poor both of us—it was a gay bar."

"What did Reid do?"

"Just the usual Reid blustering, then he was glued to my side the next half hour until we got out of there. Swore he was never coming back to New York again. Made me swear not to repeat that—especially to JJ and Morgan."

"I'll keep it between us. Oh, my poor little genius." Emily's humor was evident in the wicked quirk of her lips, and Hotch felt a full smile stretch his own mouth. "So clueless about other things. Cute."

"Cute?" Hotch looked at her, judging her face to see if she was serious. "You think Reid is cute?"

"Of course. He's got that lovable little teddy bear thing down to an art. Makes you just want to hug him." Her words weren't teasing, and he studied her for a moment. "Garcia and JJ agree."

"You've discussed this?"

"Of course. We've spent many, many hours in random hotel rooms, Hotch. We had to talk about something." Emily took the next exit, heading down into the heart of the city.

"So you discussed the attractiveness of Reid?"

"Does that surprise you?" Emily looked at him quickly, "We've also discussed Morgan, and even why Dave's had three ex-wives."

"And me? What have you said about me?" Hotch lowered his voice, as his heart started to run a little faster.

"Well, truthfully, Garcia did most of the talking, Hotch. The rest of us—well…"

"Go on."

"The rest of us felt it was inappropriate to discuss _you _that way."

"But not the rest of the team?" Hotch was hurt, but he hoped it didn't show. "Why?"

"Well, for one thing you were married, sir."

"Don't call me sir." He said, inexplicably angry—not at the conversation, not at JJ or the other women, but angry at _her. _"Was that all?"

"Yes." She looked at him, obviously puzzled at his swift change in mood. "What else would there be?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying, _Hotch." _She definitely didn't pull any punches. "Something about our conversation made you angry. What was it?"

"You want the truth, Agent Prentiss?" He almost snarled, not missing the way she unconsciously backed off, shifted in her seat. "I feel it, ok? The separation between myself and the rest of the team. I feel it now more than ever."

"Since when?"

"Since Gideon, since Hayley, since New York. All of it." He released his words half on a snarl and half on a sigh. "I feel separated from everything, and I know—it was all my own doing."

"And if it was?" She asked, a small tremble in her words, "What are you going to do about it?"


	8. Chapter 8

Hotch pondered her question, and his strange reaction to the whole conversation for several moments. He knew she'd been pushing his buttons; he was equally as familiar with her interview technique as she was—maybe more so, since he'd help write the manual. But he didn't answer.

What was he going to do about the distance he felt between himself and the rest of the team? Yes, some degree of separation within the team was necessary; he was the supervisor, after all. But the rest of them—even Dave—they laughed, talked, had a good time whenever they could. But not him, and they'd stopped inviting him as much after the divorce and after the New York case. Morgan and Dave had both been to her home, had even _left _personal belongings behind.

Yet Hotch had been twice and never in just the friendly capacity, always something case related. He knew he had no one to blame but himself. "I don't know."

"We've a place for you, Hotch. If you just want to take it." Her words were soft, the little glances she shot to him sympathetic.

His hand shot out to cover hers where it rested on the stick shift. "Thank you, Emily. For everything, for this, for the way you take care of the team, for being there."

"Anytime," She smiled. He smiled. It was a shared moment of understanding that completely disconcerted him.

"Now drive, Agent Prentiss."

ZOOOMMMMMZOOOOOMZOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stella Bonasera was a few years older than Emily, a few inches taller, but had that same aura of competent strength and survival that classified Emily, Hotch realized.

She was also unfailingly loyal, as evidenced by her meeting Emily in her apartment lobby at nearly three in the morning. "Em? How are you? What's this about?"

"We need some help, Stel." Emily said, her bag slung over her shoulder. She was exhausted, Hotch could see that. But she kept going. He felt a flood of guilt knowing he'd dragged her into this thing with O'Connor. She didn't deserve to be a part of it. And yet it was her car, her friend, her money—for the most part—even her planning that had gotten them this far safely.

He'd lost almost every argument they'd had strategy-wise since this trip began. She'd won with the credit card, she'd won with the idea to use the internet social networking site to get with the team. She'd won on the trip to New York.

Why hadn't he noticed how she tended to dominate when she wanted something? Or…was he just giving in to her more? He was beginning to think it was the latter. She'd look at him with those big dark eyes, her words would be soft but firm, and her every argument would be reasonable. It was hard to argue with reasonable. It was even harder to argue with Emily Prentiss.

No wonder she took charge with Spencer and JJ—even Morgan at times. She was a quiet force to be reckoned with. But a force, nonetheless. And very, very effective when the chips were down. Had he not been near her apartment what would have happened?

"What can I do?" Was the only question the New York cop asked, and Hotch wondered what it was about Emily that inspired that kind of trust and loyalty. He saw the same thing in the team where she was concerned. Even Dave had taken quickly to Emily.

In fact, the only person on the team who'd had any trouble accepting the woman beside him had been…him.

Hotch wondered about that for a moment as the woman talked a bit about what was going on.

"You need me to hide your car somewhere where it won't get stolen or impounded, but also won't get noticed by both the FEDs and the Washington DC police? You are in over your head on this one, aren't you?" Det. Boneserra laughed and Hotch tuned back into the conversation. He'd expected any other reaction from a cop being asked to help hinder an investigation. "Any particular reason why?"

"Irish mafia connections. Within the DC area. We need to lay low for a while and contact the trial lawyers involved. CeCe Hillenbrand, from Virginia, Gloria Trainers from here, and Heath Corriden from Massachusetts." Emily explained as they took the elevator to the woman's sixth floor apartment.

"Trainers? That the one on the news?"

Hotch's attention sharpened at the woman's question. "What news?"

"Sometime this afternoon a body was pulled from the sound. ID'd as a woman named Trainers, an attorney with the federal offices." She explained slowly. "An African American woman in her forties. Mac and Danny—my teammates--pulled the case. No leads currently."

"Dammit." Hotch swore, thinking of the women's three children, and the elderly mother she'd left behind. Her husband had died two years before the case in question. "She was a nice woman."

"I'm sorry." Stella said, as she led them into her small but chic apartment. "What else do you know?"

"Not much." Hotch said. "Four men—two at least were local DC cops—jumped me near Emily's condo. We've been two steps ahead of them the whole way since then. Ties in to a former case of mine."

"So what are you going to do, now?" Stella asked. "If you've information on this case, you'll need to speak with Mac."

"We can't do that." Emily protested, looking at her friend, pleadingly. "We don't know how far up this goes. But this guy, he won't stop and he'll hurt whomever gets in his way."

"But you can't keep running, Emily Jane." Stella warned. "Sooner or later, you'll get caught."

"We've got our team looking for a way out of this." Hotch said, moving to stand behind the chair Emily occupied. His hand dropped to squeeze her narrow shoulder unconsciously. "But we have no choice but to keep ahead of the game. If you could help us, we'd appreciate it. And we'll talk to your detective as soon as we possibly can."

"So in the meantime?" Stella asked, her clear green gaze as equally piercing as Emily's when she wanted something—or felt strongly about something.

"We hide the car someplace nobody will ever think to look for it." Emily said. "And we find a place to lie low someplace nobody will think to look for us."

"I know of an apartment. Current owner is now staying with her new husband. I can make a phone call. I've a spare key, you'd be able to go straight there. As for your car—how do you feel about plate-swapping?" Stella had a contemplative and calculating expression on her face.

"What do you mean?" Hotch asked.

"Easy. I know someone who has a BMW, as well. With local plates. In a parking garage two blocks from here—and I have the spare key, and am on the contract to pick the car up whenever I need it. I suggest we swap the plates and just leave Flack's car right where it is…and park yours right where Flack's is expected to be." Stella laughed. "I can guarantee no one will think to look there for your car. And with your name not on a parking contract at the parking garage, no one will be able to tie you to this place. It would buy you several days, at minimum."

"Where?" Hotch asked, slowly. This woman was probably as equally good at strategy as Emily. It was enough to make a smart man a little nervous when in their presence. Make him wonder just what the women were capable of plotting about _him. _He was infinitely thankful they were on his side.

"The New York City crime lab parking lot." Stella said. "No safer place for your car."

"It just might work." Emily said, "If we could pull it off."

"I think we can." Hotch said, his other hand rising to her other shoulder, unifying them. "It would buy us time, time we desperately need. Let's do it."


	9. Chapter 9

5: 00 AM

Emily gave her car one final affectionate pat on the hood, a brief hint of worry touching her mind. She loved her car, loved the freedom it gave her. Loved the escape it allowed. It hurt to leave it in such an unfamiliar place.

Still, if it was necessary to keep her and Hotch safe, she'd do it without a backward glance. She and Hotch had had another argument while at Stella's. He'd wanted to come with them to the parking facility and crime lab, but neither Stella or Emily felt that would be a good idea. Instead, he'd taken a cab to the address Stella had provided, after the other woman had called her friend and got permission for her apartment to be used for a few days.

The CSI, Lindsay—Stella had called her, had agreed with Stella's request no questions asked. Emily knew they'd owe both women a big favor when this was over.

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to switch plates between the two silver BMW's, then drive Emily's Roadster to the crime lab. Both Stella and Lindsay lived within easy walking distance to the crime lab, and Emily had no trouble finding the apartment where Hotch was.

He was waiting in the stairwell impatiently, his body tensed, his face tight while she used the spare key Stella had given her. They waited until getting inside the small efficiency before speaking.

"Everything go ok?" He asked, moving closer.

"Yes. The attendant was new at the parking garage, didn't seem to recognize Stella. So that's good." Emily put her bag on the small counter. The whole apartment was small, which was the norm for New York. It was small, but incredibly neat. Framed mountain prints were hung precisely around the one-room apartment.

There was no bed, but she'd expected that. Stella had told her that Lindsay used a pull-out couch. So chances were good she'd be sharing with Hotch, again. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Although…earlier she'd had no trouble falling asleep next to him. For the first time in a long while she'd felt completely and utterly safe next to a man. He'd been warm, strong, and inviting. She'd felt comfortable enough to relax—something that didn't happen to her often when in bed with a man.

She knew it had to do with trust and control. She'd trusted before, and look how that had turned out. Not good for everyone involved. But when next to Hotch she'd been ok. Probably because it was a strictly platonic relationship, business-like, for the most part.

She doubted she could have slept curled up against Morgan or Dave. Reid, maybe. But just because he was like a lovable little puppy at times.

"Everything go smoothly at the crime lab?" He asked, standing awkwardly next to the refrigerator.

"Yes. No one even seemed to see us, and if they did, we made it appear that we were leaving the car while we went out for drinks. Casual friends, hanging out, kind of thing." Now what do we do, Hotch? I'm completely out of ideas. With Trainers dead, where do we look now?"

"We need to find CeCe." Hotch said, helping her put away the small bag of groceries she and Stella had purchased. "Talk to her. The case was originally Gloria's."

"RICO statutes made it a federal case?" Emily asked. RICO cases were relatively easy to prove, requiring only two crimes committed of a list of a specific thirty-five.

"There were several factors, but RICO was the largest." Hotch removed the ballcap from his head. He wasn't used to wearing hats, and had been fiddling with it all day. "O'Connor plead to lesser charges to avoid a life sentence. So the RICO indictment was dropped, provisionally."

"What RICO criteria were met?" Emily sank down onto a green barstool.

"Kidnapping, arson, extortion, and murder-for-hire. Corruption charges as well. Had fourteen officers throughout the three states, plus DC giving insider information to O'Connor. All fourteen were convicted."

"How many faced charges total from that case?"

"Twenty-six. Fourteen cops, four lawyers, O'Connor and his closest his associates." Hotch said. "Tried to go after O'Connor senior, but no evidence pointed his way. In fact, most of what we had indicated Junior was operating below his father's radar. That's why there hasn't been retaliation from that end, yet."

"How did the father react to the son's actions?" Emily slipped her shoes off, then pulled her socks free. She'd run then under the sink to rinse them out and let them dry. They hadn't exactly brought a lot of things with them. Stella had loaned her a few things, but they had no idea how long they'd be there.

She eyed him while she considered being holed up with him for days, even weeks. Her stomach dropped when she imagined sleeping beside him every night for who knew how long. Her breath caught.

Hotch looked at her face, then his eyes dropped to follow her hand as she massaged the toes of one foot. She had purple polish on her toes. How…intriguing. And unexpected. Hotch wanted to touch. "Disappointment. A touch of rage. Rumored to have told his son's attorneys that the boy needed the time in jail. Teach him a lesson of where his loyalties were. But he paid for the attorneys."

"You think he's involved with this?" She asked.

"I don't know." Hotch said. "If he'd wanted to get back at those involved, why wait so long? Why not go after things five years ago? Why wait so long?"

"We can have Stella do a quick check, see if O'Connor is still in prison and where senior is." Emily suggested. "We need to know if Hillenbrand or Corriden are ok, if they've heard any rumbling. Wasn't Hillenbrand the attorney on the Roanoke case last year?"

"The Matloff case, yes. We've worked together before. She's a good attorney."

"And Heath Corriden?"

"From Boston. Good guy." Hotch said. "Around my age, spent his entire career with the district attorney's office. One hell of a good lawyer. He was third chair on this case. I haven't spoken to him in a while."

"I think that's what we need to do while we wait." Prentiss said. "Find him and Hillenbrand. Make sure nothing's happened to them. Then find out what's going on and where to go next."

"We need to contact the team, fill them in. But I don't want them actively working on this. Not openly, anyway." Hotch moved toward the couch, removing the cushions. "But for now, I think we need to get some sleep. If you want the bed, I'll take the floor."

"No. You need the bed, Hotch. Or are you forgetting that you nearly got the stuffing beaten out of you?" Prentiss moved to help him pull the hide-a-bed free. "I'll take the chair."

"Prentiss, I'll take the chair. It's my fault your involved in this, the least I can do is let you have the bed."

"Ok. I'm not going to argue with you—"

"That's new," He mumbled the words, then winced when she turned to him with fire in her dark eyes.

"Are you saying I've been argumentative? What was it earlier? Insubordinate?"

"Something like that." Hotch felt hot embarrassment coloring his face as those dark eyes stared at him. "Tell you what, why don't we just share again. No sense in one of us not getting any sleep because we're uncomfortable."

"Share?" She gave it some thought. "As long as you promise not to steal the blankets…I hate being cold."

"Deal." Hotch said. "I'll stay on one side, you stay on the other, and we'll each get one blanket a piece."

"Ok. And this remains our little secret." She said, turning to find the small linen closet and retrieve a couple of pillows.

"Ok." His face must have shown his puzzlement because she laughed at him as she turned back. It really was a small apartment, with every nook being visible.

"Can you imagine what Garcia would say if she knew we'd bunked together?"

Hotch's mouth quirked, but he didn't reply. He took the pillows from her then watched as she retreated to the small bathroom to change out of her jeans.

Yes, he could imagine what the entire team would say if they knew he'd spent hours lying that close to her body. His own body tightened as he thought about it.

Garcia would tease them both, Reid wouldn't care, and JJ would get a slightly concerned expression. Dave and Morgan—they'd get knowing smirks, both of the belief that a man and woman couldn't remain platonic in those circumstances.

Hotch was beginning to understand their reasoning.

Would their relationship remain platonic with her pressing close against him for warmth, with his face buried in her hair, enjoying the scent that was unique to her?

He was beginning to doubt it would.


	10. Chapter 10

COLLATERAL TEN

_What are man and woman if not members of two very different and warring tribes? (Northern Exposure)_

Emily Prentiss liked to cuddle.. At least, she liked to cuddle in her sleep. After two long evenings crammed together in a small pullout bed, Hotch knew that very well.

Two _long _nights of her body pressed against his, the tee-shirt and sweats she slept in proving little barrier between the two of them. Hotch had spent two nights fighting the urge to slide his hands beneath the cotton, to warm her body with his touch. To show her a way they could get as close to one another as possible. He'd been filled with the urge to roll her beneath him, cover her mouth with his and show her that _he _was a man and _she _was a woman, and when put together in a bed, there was a natural progression they would follow. He'd fought the urge, fought it hard.

But with her long, lean body curved against him, her leg thrown over his, that fight was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

And she didn't have a frackin' clue.

At least not that she'd shown. She'd acted impervious to the situation when awake, and when the mornings had finally rolled around after hours of him just lying there holding her, she'd blink at him sleepily, would smile, then just lie there for several long moments.

Emily Prentiss woke slowly. Emily Prentiss woke sexily.

And she was driving Hotch insane.. He didn't know how much longer he could take this. Before he had to do something about it.

HOTCHISGETTINHOT!!!!!!!!!!!

Hotch wasn't so bad, as a roommate. Emily'd come to that opinion midway through the second day they'd been camping at Lindsay's. He cleaned up after himself, never hogged the remote, and he didn't kick in his sleep.

Plus, it was rather nice to be able to curl up against a man without him expecting anything from her in return. She'd never really had that in the past.

Even Jon and Matthew had needed more from her than they could ever give her. Even Reid and Morgan depended on her more than she did them.

And there was no way in hell she'd _ever _be able to curl up, safe and warm, against thrice-married Rossi. Even in his early fifties, the man had very _traditional _ideas about a man and a woman and a bed. She was so not going _there _with David Rossi.

She was so glad Hotch was different.

All in all, she thought their forced rooming situation was going rather well.

It was the inactivity that was driving her crazy.

EMILYNEEDSTOGETACLUE!!!!!!!!!!!

Kevin Lynch was sweating. The IA guy, the same one who'd nearly been killed by Battle over a year ago, was both figuratively and literally breathing down Kevin's neck. And all the man wanted was to know where Agent Hotchner was.

Not to mention where the _rest _of Hotchner's team had ended up.

Twenty-four hours earlier and the best of the best the BAU had to offer had went under. Agents Morgan and Rossi were somewhere along the coast. Kevin wasn't sure exactly what they were doing. JJ and her family had joined Agent Prentiss's mother in Maryland. They'd spread the rumor that Agent Prentiss had went to her mother's home to recuperate.

Penelope and Dr. Reid—they were camping out in a hotel ten blocks from Kevin's apartment.

He was the team's only link to exactly what was going on on the inside.

And Agent Fuchs probably knew that. Couldn't prove it. But he knew it. And Kevin had never been a good liar. If the man flat out asked him, Kevin didn't know if he'd be able to stick to the story Penelope had drilled into him.

"Lynch?" The man's voice ha d that annoying whine, mixed with a not-so-subtle air of command.

"Uh, yu-yes, sir?" Kevin tried real hard not to stutter as he spun his chair around. He swallowed, seeing not only Fuchs, but Unit Chief Strauss, and three other agents he didn't recognize. Where they going to arrest him for helping Penelope and her team? He thought of his favorite blonde and firmed his chin. He'd willingly go to jail to protect Penelope Garcia or those she cared about. If that's what he had to do, he'd do it. "How can I help you, sir?"

"It's come to my attention that the only member of Agent Hotchner's team we've not been able to interview is Agent Prentiss." Fuchs said. "We need you to locate her and get her in here."

"A-a-agent Prentiss, sir? I thought she was ill."

"We believe she may be with Agent Hotchner." Fuchs said. "We need you to find _them."_

"But Agent Prentiss was pretty ill." Kevin said again.

"Was she?" Fuchs asked. "From what I understand the only reason everyone thought she was ill was because Agent Rossi said so _after _Hotchner went missing. And her neighbors report seeing her leave two days ago with a man meeting Hotchner's description."

"She isn't ill?" Kevin thought he did a good job of pretending surprise. "Then why didn't she come to work? Agent Prentiss never misses."

"She's with Hotchner." Fuchs said.

"With Agent Hotchner, sir?"

"Do you always feel the need to repeat things when you're nervous, Analyst Lynch?" Fuchs asked.

"Uh, yes, sir…I mean, no sir." Kevin wiped his palms on his chinos. "Where should I start, sir?"

"We want to know everything about both Agents Hotchner and Prentiss. Starting at the very beginning. We want to know all their associates as far back as you can find, and who they may turn to for help." Fuchs said. "And then, we want to know why they ran, and what they are hiding. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I'll get on that right away. But it's going to take me some time." Kevin swallowed, wondering what to do next. He could stall them, he knew, but for how long?

Kevin didn't know where to begin.

"Lynch?" Fuchs said softly. "They had to have transportation. Start by finding the woman's car."

CSINYCSINYCSINYCSINY

Something was up with Stella. Mac had known the woman long enough to recognize when she was hiding something from him.

And she was definitely hiding something of a doozy. He made a mental note to get her alone and figure out what was going on with her.

As soon as he solved the Trainers case.

A knock on his door had him looking up from the file before him. Two men stood between Flack and Danny, both dressed in severe suits.

"Yes?" Mac stood. "How can I help you?"

"Detective Taylor? We're with the Internal Affairs division of the FBI." They flashed their badges. Mac's spine stiffened, all his instincts telling him he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

"And what can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We're looking for a member of your team. Stella Bonessara." The taller one said, his manner cold and flat.

"Stella? Is she in some kind of trouble?" Mac stood and rounded his desk, knowing that he posed more of a threat on his feet than sitting behind the desk.

"She may…have…information we are looking for." The second agent said.

"What kind of information?" Flack asked, a fiercely protective look on his face. Mac sent him a glance, and the younger man got the hint.

"The kind you're not privy to." The first one said.

"Then you won't be speaking with my CSI."


	11. Chapter 11

COLLATERAL DAMAGE ELEVEN:

"Lust is to the other passions what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to them all ambition, cruelty, avarice, revenge, are all founded on lust." Marquis De Sade

POORHOTCHPOORHOTCH

8:25 A.M.

Hotch was suffering, beyond what any man should be expected to endure. Apparently New York crime scene techs didn't make enough money to have decent air conditioning. And the sudden new York heat wave—coming in April of all things—was increasing Hotch's torture ten-fold.

Agent Emily Prentiss, dedicated professional, and a woman who should have known better, had chosen to sleep in the smallest shorts that could possibly still be called decent. Maybe, he'd have to review the statutes on New York decency laws. Or write one, if there wasn't one that he felt was appropriate enough.

And that wasn't all—the heat had gotten so unbearable that she'd kicked off her blanket and he'd been forced to remove his shirt, or drown in his own sweat.

And then, to make matters worse, the apartment air conditioner had kicked on with a vengeance less than half an hour _after _Hotch had finally managed to fall back to sleep.

Cold air, exposed skin, and a cold Emily Prentiss meant one thing for Hotch—a nearly naked goddess plastered to his naked chest. And damned if she didn't feel wonderful.

Hotch's hands were gripping her ass before he was even coherent enough to be aware of what he was doing. His lips were tasting the saltiness of her slightly sweaty neck—his knee was sliding stealthily between hers.

And she was waking.

She _hmmed_, a sound she always made as she woke, and it reverberated in Hotch's gut. He'd long fantasized about the exact sounds he'd be able to get her to make in the three days they'd been stuck in the little apartment. He'd decided the _hmm _would probably be his favorite. "God, Emily! You taste good!"

He followed his words with an action, pressing his lips to hers as her eyelids began that first fluttering of the day. As she looked up at him sleepily, dazedly—unaware.

Then her entire body stiffened, her hands tightened on his shoulders. She pulled away, just a bit, just as far as he'd let her, "Hotch!"

DAMNDAMNDAMN

David Rossi had long been a student of human behavior, and as he and Morgan entered the NYC crime lab, he knew immediately that the brunette with a riot of curls peeking around the corner into the office of the head of the lab was up to something.

In fact, Dave would lay money on the woman being the one they were there to see.

Seems Emily Prentiss had very few close friends within driving distance of DC, and at the top of that short list was a CSI Detective Stella Bonesara. Morgan and Dave, and the rest of the team were getting desperate to find Hotch and Emily.

Phillip Joel O'Connor's former cell mate had been found with his throat slashed, and O'Connor's best childhood friend had been found in a likewise manner. Not to mention what they'd done to that man's wife. And sister.

The women—both under the age of thirty—had just happened to be home that morning. Though they lived, Dave knew they'd never recover emotionally.

Dave wanted to make damned sure O'Connor's men didn't lay one finger on Emily Prentiss, or anyone else on their team. Or the brunette in front of them—who could be a potential target. Dave touched Morgan's arm quietly, both men pausing out of earshot of the obviously eavesdropping woman.

"Look." Dave said, motioning through the glass windows. "Isn't that Fornell's man, Sachs? I heard he'd transferred to IA a while back."

"That's him. Damned bastard is like a dog with a bone after he's made his mind up about something." Morgan said grimly. "And the woman? That Bonesara?"

"Ten to one odds." Dave said, "You—bring the SUV around. If we split up we're less likely to be seen by Sachs and his crew. I'll get Bonesara and meet you in the parking garage."

Morgan checked his watch. "You've got fifteen minutes. If you're any later, I'm assuming you've been made."

"Morgan! This is not an X-Men movie." Dave snarked. "Just get the car."

"Great, I'll get the car, you get the girl. Hardly seems fair."

"Woman. She's too old for you. And since Hotch has Prentiss now…" Dave shrugged. "Go, so we can get the action-flick in gear."

"You think he's had Prentiss by now?"

"If he hasn't then he must be in a _whole _lot of pain. After all, Morgan, wouldn't you be?"

DUMDUMDUMMMMMMMM

Hotch didn't want to pull back. Not at all. She'd been torturing him for days. Literally days. Surely, for Hell's sake, she _knew _he was just a mere mortal. Knew he had needs just like any other man. Like Dave. Like Morgan. Hell, even like Reid.

And as a profiler, surely she understood the danger proximity could present, when two people were attracted to one another. And he knew she was feeling the attraction a bit, as well. He'd seen the signs, seen the way she watched him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Shh. It's ok." He murmured against her hair. "Not hurting anything."

"Have you lost your mind? Sir?" She breathed, though the words were short, choppy, and he realized he was lying fully on her—most likely cutting off some of her air supply. He shifted his upper body, leaving his hands right where they were—against her side and circling her waist.

"Yes. I have." He said, with a dark tinge to his words that had her brows rising quickly. "And it's all your fault."

"Excuse me?" She drawled the question out, the indignation plain for him to hear. "How is that? Did _I _ show up on _your _door needing help? No. I don't think so. Will you stop that?"

"Stop what?" Hotch fought the urge to laugh, as one of her hands tried to capture his. Tried to keep it still, tried to stop it from caressing the skin bared by her shirt's rising up while she'd slept. "This?"

He kept his eyes trained on her face, not missing the way her breath caught. Not missing the bumps that suddenly rose on her flesh. She'd liked his hand running over her stomach. Teasing her by going just a bit lower. "Sure you want me to stop?"

"Yes." Her small word was broken, hesitant.

"Liar." He told her as boldly as he could. "We both know you're lying. Both know that's exactly what you don't want."

"What brought this on?" She demanded, this time pushing against his chest lightly. She negated her intent by pausing just long enough to run a finger absently through the sparse sprinkling of chest hair covering his skin. He caught her hand, trapping it against him—making her aware of what she'd done.

Her action had sealed things. Made it perfectly clear to him that it wasn't just him feeling the heat between them.

Enough was enough. She'd tortured him for three days, and three even longer nights. Now it was time for payback.

And he was going to see to it that she enjoyed it—just as much as he did. But only after he'd made her pay for her teasing.

And pay she would.


	12. Chapter 12

COLLATERAL TWELVE

Stella Bonesara knew by Mac's body language—one of her closest friends was a profiler, Stella'd picked up a few things through the years—that the two suits in Mac's office meant that something was up. She'd probably been made.

She watched for a few moments before pulling her phone from her belt. She dialed Lindsay's apartment quickly.

RINGRINGRINGRING!!!!!

She'd woken with her supervisor's, her _unit chief's, _tongue in her mouth, and his hands creeping under her shirt.

Not how Emily ever expected to wake up. Ever. Admitted, she'd long found Aaron Hotchner to be a physically attractive specimen for his age. But had she ever seen the vague appreciation for a well-put together male translating into her…unit chief…being so…insistent?

"Hotch?" Emily resisted the urge to bite her lip. To show how unbalanced she now felt. "Have you suffered a psychotic break I need to know about? Because that's the only explanation I can come up with about now."

"Not yet." Even Emily heard the wicked humor in his words. "Close. But not yet."

"Ok…Will you get off me?" She gave an experimental wiggle. It was a definite mistake on her part, and she knew it immediately when he just moaned. His eyes darkened, a look of deep lust she had _never _expected to see in his eyes. He shifted, moving closer instead of away. Pressed against her deliberately. "I think it's things getting to you. Restlessness because we've been unable to do anything about our situation. Have been in a kind of limbo."

"Profiling me, Prentiss?"

"Kind of hard not to." She kept herself ruthlessly still. She wasn't inexperienced, by any means, and she felt the clear evidence of his intent pressing against he. Her hands suddenly itched to touch him. Her hands rose to press against the supple skin of his chest.

For a man of past forty, Hotch had one well-defined chest, with just the right amount of chest hair surrounding two flat little brown nipples. Emily's hands had a mind of their own, and she soon found herself tracing the lines of his chest, aimed at those little brown targets. He trembled beneath her hands and heat pooled in her belly. "So you think this is just proximity? That whomever I would have been 'stuck' with for the last five days would have caused the same…reaction?" Hotch pressed his hips forward, and she felt him against her sleep shorts. Her teeth sunk into her lip as she fought the urge to widen her legs, just a little bit. Just to bring him…closer. "Somehow, I don't think so, Emily."

"So what do you think this is? Not exactly something that would happen during our regular routine." She was proud her voice came out assured.

"I think that you don't seem to realize that I am a man as well as an agent. I'm not a robot." His words now escaped in the customary flat Hotch-voice she was used to.

Emily had heard the rumors floating through the department, knew people thought he was a ruthless automaton. That he had no feelings and no understanding for those agents who were a bit more sensitive. Even Agent Todd had grumbled about him. It had made Emily angry on his behalf, but she'd had no room to talk—everything that had been said about him had passed her own lips at one point or another. "I know your not, Hotch. You don't have to prove that to me."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what…"

"I'm saying that you've paraded around in front of me for days now as if I wouldn't even notice, as if I am nothing more than your brother, or a sexless drone A man can't take that kind of torture forever."

"Hotch?" Emily felt her eyes widen, both at his words and the anger behind them.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And I can't take it anymore. I'm just a man, and you…you've been in my face for days. And at night…damn. At night you're draped over me, I can feel you, smell you, and dammit—I want to touch you. Have you. Show you that I am here, and I want you."

He didn't give her a chance to say anything else, just dropped his mouth to hers. He coaxed her lip free from where she'd trapped it between her teeth. It was a habit she engaged in only when completely overwhelmed and out of her element. He tasted like spice, heat, and Hotch. An inexplicable mix that drew her in.

Her arms snuck around his neck, her legs parted to give him more room. His hands slipped her tank top up, revealing her ribs. His hands were hot against his skin. "Emily—can I? Please?"

It took her a moment to form the word. She was an intelligent woman, she knew the possible ramifications of what they were about to do. But still… "Yes. But dammit, when we're done--no regrets…and for God's sake…._hurry!"_

Hotch laughed, the sound deep and wicked…and completely un-Hotch-like. His hands made quick work of her red tank top, then they were pressed skin to skin. His hands were hot and insistent against her skin.

His fingers were hooked in the band of her black shorts ready to slide them down her long, long legs…when…the phone rang.

"_EJ, get out. Now! They're here at the lab. You need to go, now!"_

DAMNITAGAINDAMNITAGAIN

Stella disconnected the call, slipping her cell into her pocket. Mac looked up, his eyes meeting hers through the glass. He shook his head minutely. Stella knew what the signal meant. He didn't want her going near the two men in his office. She took a step back, before spinning on one foot and making her way quickly down the hall. She was completely unaware of the man following behind her.

ROSSITHESTALKER

She was a beautiful woman, thin, classic. A bit older than Emily, maybe even older than Hotch, Dave calculated, as he hurried behind the woman. He had no idea what he was going to do. He just knew that he had to get Emily's friend out of the building and to a position of safety—where he could grill her for all she knew about Hotch and Emily's whereabouts.

She rounded one last corner, then pushed the button for the elevator. Apparently, it wasn't fast enough for her. She turned and entered the stairwell. Perfect. He was five yards behind her.

Then he was four yards behind her, moving as quietly as he could.

She must have sensed him gaining on her, must have sensed he was intent on her. She sped up.

And damnit—she was faster than him. Considerably. Retirement had taken more out of him than he'd thought if a forty-something-year old woman could outpace him.

He picked up speed.

She'd reached the stairwell door, less than two yards ahead of him. It led directly into the parking garage.

"Detective Bonesara! Wait!" Rossi called. "We need your help!"

She just moved faster.

She was across the parking lot, in less than a quarter time than he, familiarity aiding her. Rossi was cursing to himself, certain he'd lost her when a moving vehicle caught his eye. Derek Morgan pulled the SUV to a stop directly in the woman's path.

The younger man jumped from the driver's seat.

She was caught between them. She paused, just long enough for Rossi to wrap his fingers around her elbow. Just long enough for the main doors to open and reveal Fornell's lapdog, Agent Sachs and two other men.

She jerked. It was obvious she didn't want them to see her.

"Relax, Detective. Just get in, we'll explain everything." Rossi said, even while he was maneuvering her to the backseat of the SUV, his hand firm on her arm. She struggled just a moment and he pressed closer. She wasn't wearing a weapon—he was. And he knew she felt it against her stomach. Morgan was armed, as well. Rossi saw her eyes drop to the Sig Saur visible on _his _belt. She moved closer to the vehicle. Morgan waited to ensure she cooperated—by giving her a physical boost into the leather seat—before hopping back into the driver's side.

Rossi followed her into the vehicle.

He and Morgan had just completed their first successful kidnapping.


	13. Chapter 13

It took Hotch and Emily two minutes to gather their things, practice making perfect. They'd lived out of bags for years, and this was no different.

Hotch grabbed the box of condoms he'd found in the bathroom three days earlier and tossed them in his bag. He fully intended to finish what he and Emily had started. As soon as they found a safe place to hide, she'd be beneath him. "Emily, you ready?"

"Yes." Her cheeks were flushed, her bag was flung over her shoulder, and she held a trash bag with their borrowed clothing. Her leather jacket was draped over her arm. "Let's roll."

"Good."

"What are we going to do now? Because I am fresh out of ideas." She bit her lip, her eyes drifting away from his. He knew she was embarrassed.

"I think now we should go on the offensive." Hotch said, "It's time we looked for CeCe and Heath."

"So, we need to get back to Virginia? How?"

"That I don't know."

KIDNAPPEDBYROSSIKIDNAPPEDBYROSSI

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Stella demanded from her new seat in the back of what she recognized as a government SUV. "And who the hell are you?"

"We're friends of Emily's." The younger man said from the driver's seat. He flicked glances in her direction from time to time, via the rearview mirror. "We need your help."

"And this is how you go about getting it? Are you insane? Explain to me why I shouldn't roll down the window and scream for help?" She twisted to avoid the older man close at her side. She thought he looked vaguely familiar. "How do I know you're friends with Emily?"

The man beside her pulled a cell phone from his pocket and showed her a picture. It was definitely Emily, standing between two blonde women, with the driver and another young man standing on each end. He continued to flip through a dozen images, showing Emily in most. Even the somber man she recognized as Emily's traveling companion was featured in some. "See? Emily's one of our closest friends, and she's in trouble. We think you must have been one of the last ones to see her. We need to know where she is."

"I don't know where she is." Stella said, although she did believe them. She relaxed somewhat. The man beside her must have sensed it because he backed out of her space a little. "I called her a few minutes ago and told her to take a hike. I'm sure she's done gone."

"Dammit!" The driver said, "We were this close, Rossi!"

"I know, but where would they go?" The older man said.

"So who are you two?" Stella asked. "And just where exactly are you taking me? I can guarantee my boss will be looking all over for me—and you. And Mac is pretty relentless when he's on to something."

"I'm SSA David Rossi, that's SSA Derek Morgan; we're members of the same team as Emily and Hotch." The older one held out a hand for Stella to shake. "Derek, head back to Maryland, we'll regroup at the Ambassador's. Update the team. Try to decide what to do next."

"You want to leave New York?" Morgan asked, "But man, we know Hotch and Em are here!"

"But for how long?" Rossi countered, "It's time we rounded up all the other players. Who worked that case after it got to trial—CeCe Hildenbrand. We need to find her and the other attorneys involved."

"Attorney. Gloria Trainers was killed this week. Her body is currently lying in _my _morgue." Stella added. "So where will Emily and Agent Hotchner go?"

"We have no idea." Rossi admitted. "Hotch isn't the type to run, but in this case, I don't think he had any other option."

"He could have come to the team." Morgan said. "Same thing happened to Gideon and look how well that turned out."

"But Hotch isn't alone. Emily can handle him." Rossi said. "We need to rework the profiles, and go from there."

"Um, it's a four hour drive to Emily's mother's. I can't be missing that long." Stella argued.

"If you get out now, the IA, and every damned cop on this case is going to be looking at _you _for answers." Rossi pointed out. "Is that really going to help Emily? If you stay with us, we may be able to find them first."

"Good point. But you better start driving fast. If Mac puts out an APB on this vehicle, you won't be leaving the city."

"She has a point, Derek. Floor it."

"Aye aye, Batman."

"You've spent way too much time with Garcia. Way too much time."

ZOOOOMMMMZOOOMMMMZOOOOOMM!!!!!!!!!!!

They'd had no option but to purchase the ugliest, loudest, most disgusting Buick Emily had ever seen. She'd honestly considered refusing to get in it—let alone drive it. Still it had only cost them six hundred dollars—about twice what the thing was worth.

Still, a ninety-two baby blue Buick was a far cry from her 2006 silver and black limited edition Roadster BMW. Nobody would even think twice about looking at them in this…thing. "I don't think I've ever seen such a disgusting car."

"I have. Get in." Hotch opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. "We need to get rolling."

"God, the things I do for the team…" Emily muttered, sliding into the car's interior. It had been cleaned, she'd give the previous owners that. But still, a ninety-two _Buick. _Would it even make the six plus hour drive to Virginia? The teenage owner they'd purchased it from had ensured them it was a fine, sound car. That he'd worked on it as an auto mechanics class project. He'd insisted that the engine just purred. Emily wasn't too sure. "If this thing ends up breaking down somewhere in Maryland, just don't forget that I warned you."

"Agent Prentiss, just get in." Hotch's voice held a touch of exasperation, and Emily smirked. Served him right. He'd not listened to her. She'd wanted to find a hotel room in New York and lay low until they could meet back up with the team. Hotch had completely vetoed that idea, stating he didn't want to endanger anyone else.

Sometimes the lone ranger routine really pissed Emily off.

Of course, she knew why she was on edge. They'd not settled anything between them. She blessed Stella's phone call, it had kept her from possibly doing some serious damage to her career.

She couldn't sleep with her boss, was she _insane? _Yeah, she'd probably enjoy it at the time, but would there be any meaning behind it? And Emily was one of those who needed meaning. She'd learned a long time ago that casual sex was just not something she could engage in. Especially with someone she worked with.

And she strongly suspected that Hotch couldn't do casual either.

So she'd chalk the whole interlude up to proximity, adrenaline, even boredom. And she'd make damned sure it never happened again.

But dammit, Hotch definitely knew how to kiss…and his hands had been so hot…so wonderful against her skin.

But no, no matter how much he insisted, it wasn't happening again. It just wasn't.


	14. Chapter 14

Hotch and Emily arrived back in Virginia before two that afternoon. First thing they did was check into another 'cash-only' hotel. The kind where street people went to cash their welfare checks and smart people avoided at all costs. It was even more disgusting than the first place they'd stayed, but Emily said nothing. But damn, did she long for her own place, with its perfect temperature control, and it's nice, soft, warm bed. That's what she missed the most, both during this adventure and when on away-cases. Her bed. God, she missed her bed. And it was only about sixty miles away.

At this point they didn't have any clue exactly how long they'd be on the run, how long they'd need money, and after the purchase of the Buick, they'd agreed to go conservatively with their money. She'd started with around three thousand, counting the five hundred from Garcia's credit card. Hotch had had a little over six hundred dollars. Between the car, food, gas, and lodging they'd spent a good grand of that money.

They had two grand to last them however long this fiasco lasted.

So they'd stay in run-down dumps if necessary.

Emily tried not to look at the single full-sized bed that stood prominent in the room. Yes, she'd been sharing a bed with him for the last several nights, but tonight would be different. Tonight, she'd be sleeping beside a man she was beginning to have feelings for. Sexual feelings, feelings she was pretty certain she _didn't _want to have. Not for him. Not now…not…ever.

Not to mention that the waiting for this whole fiasco to come to a head was driving her insane. Emily always took action. Hadn't she defied Strauss? Hadn't she challenged Hotch when he'd showed up at her apartment that time? Hadn't she confronted Reid about his drug addiction?

No, Emily wasn't afraid to face adversity, and even though this technically wasn't her _adversity _to face, inaction drove her nuts. And she knew it was just as bad for the man currently walking back to the Buick.

He'd not let her go in the motel's office, arguing that the less they were seen together, the less the people on his tail would connect them. It was his lug-headed way of trying to protect her. It was just how Hotch was. She'd learned that in the last several days; he was always considerate of her needs. Always.

He'd probably be the same way in bed. But she refused to let herself think of that. Was absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, no buts about it—_not going to think about it._

It didn't matter if he did look really good in a pair of black slacks and dark t-shirt Stella had loaned him. She said it was her boss's, and Emily wondered briefly if the man looked even half as good in them as Hotch did?

She mentally shook herself again. She was not going to have those thoughts. She wasn't.

HOTCHANDEMILYHOTCHANDEMILY

Hotch was hot, tired, and irritated. And not necessarily in that order. He could tell the whole thing was getting to his companion, as well. She'd alternated between sighing and glaring every five minutes.

They just flat out weren't used to this. Something was going to have to happen soon, or they'd both go insane.

And he didn't just mean between them.

Although he was determined that would be…settled…soon, as well. The harsh light of day hadn't changed his opinion on _that _at all. He wanted her even when she was sweaty and irritable. It showed a human side of her that fascinated him. He wondered why he'd missed it before. Had he just not let himself look? Or had she hid herself from him that well?

He'd find the answers to his questions one way or another. Hotch was nothing if not a determined man. In the meantime, they had to find Corriden, and Ceci. Had to reconnect with the team, find out what the Bureau had managed to gather in the last few days. They had to simply move forward. Somehow.

But Hotch wasn't ready to move forward. Not yet. Not if it meant the end of this…thing…with Emily. He hadn't felt this alive in more years than he cared to admit.

"What are we going to do first?" She asked, dropping her bag on the loan chair that sat forlornly by the window. Hotch had seen abandoned houses that looked more put together than this place. Once again he felt a rush of shame for bringing someone like her to a dump like _this. _"Find Hillenbrand or Corriden?"

"First, we're going to wait. Make sure we weren't followed. You'll need to somehow contact Det. Boneserra. And we need to rendezvous with Dave and the others. Get an update on that end of things." Hotch dropped his bag beside hers. "Can you contact Garcia through the social networking sites? See if we can make another secure connection?"

"Of course," Emily said, her hands going straight for her messenger bag.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

They'd all powwowed at the ambassador's—including baby Henry, Will, Jack, Kevin, and Hayley. Not to mention Dave, Derek, and Det. Boneserra. The ambassador had an excellent security staff, plus room to house that many unexpected guests.

She'd handled their sudden arrival with much aplomb and a demeanor not unlike her daughter's. Still, the woman had been disconcerted, and when the situation had been fully explained to her, only a touch of worry had passed through her brown eyes. Eyes like her daughter's.

"So what are you doing to find my daughter and Agent Hotchner?" the Ambassador had asked, after greeting Detective Boneserra. It was obvious they'd met before. "_Before_someone else does?"

"Honestly, Ambassador Prentiss, at this point we're up in arms. The only thing we can do…is wait for them to come to us." Dave sank into the black leather sofa as he accepted a Scotch from the woman. "We can't find them." He shot a meaningful glance at the police detective seated across from him. She merely rose a brow in challenge, never saying a word. He continued. "And we've looked. Detective Boneserra was the most likely possibility. And since _she _called and told them to book it, they've gone completely underground."

"But isn't it your job to find people who don't want to be found?" Hayley asked. No one was lost to how uncomfortable she'd looked the entire time she'd been there. "So why can't you find Aaron? And Agent Prentiss? Why can't you find the people after them?"

"We will. But you have to understand—everything _we _think to do, Aaron and Emily are going to think of, as well. That means they can effectively _counter _it. And considering it's the two of them together, I'm surprised we've tracked them as far as we did. Those two are good. Damned good. Probably the best profilers I've ever seen, and now that they seem to have _finally _started working in tandem, we won't find them. At least not until they're ready to be found." Dave said.

"Which is good," Derek said, "Because it means that whomever caught Hotch the first time, probably won't catch him again."

"Unless…" JJ rocked Henry as she spoke. "Unless Hotch and Em decide to take the offensive."

"Would they do that?" Detective Boneserra asked, her worry clear in voice. "Would Em really confront the Irish mob? What am I saying…of course _Emily _would."

The detective and the ambassador shared a memory filled look that had the rest of the room's occupants tensing. Dave was the one to speak. "Would she?"

Her mother answered. "Yes. If she felt there wasn't any other option. The question is what would Agent Hotchner do?"

"That's what we're going to have to determine." Derek said. No one missed the grim tone. "_Before_ they get into even deeper trouble than what they are already in."

"Because I somehow doubt they know exactly what we know." Dave said, tapping the file in his hand against the ambassador's fine mahogany coffee table. The file that Garcia and Kevin had gathered while he and Derek were on the road. It wasn't good, and it made it doubly imperative that they find Hotch and Emily quickly.

Hayley was the one to voice the question on half the room's minds. "So what exactly is it that we _do _know?"


	15. Chapter 15

Collateral Damage 15

Three a.m. was the worst time of the night. Hotch knew it, it had been proven time and time again that three a.m. was when the body was at the weakest. That's when his resolve was weakest, too.

She lay beside him sound asleep on ratty pillow and under a stained duvet. His mind replayed the words she'd thrown at him before they'd gone to bed. "I can't do _this, _Hotch. It's not me, and I'm pretty certain it's not you, either. We both know how adrenaline can alter someone's perception of things. I'm not going to let that happen to me. Besides, what are the long-term ramifications?"

She was right. In a way. If he'd viewed it as a temporary thing. But what he hadn't told her was…that it wasn't.

He'd had plenty of time to think through exactly what the long-term ramifications were and he could handle them. He'd gone over and over it in part of his mind as they'd pulled off the interstate around noon and went over what they knew about O'Connor.

It would take some doing, some planning. Maybe even some threats with Strauss. But he'd seen other agents manage it successfully. Albeit none in the BAU, but the BAU was relatively smaller compared with other divisions. And the BAU had historically been male so it hadn't ever been a real issue. But they could work around the hurdles. If they wanted to. If she wanted to.

But instead of telling her that, he'd taken the coward's way out. Saying "I understand. You're probably right. I apologize." When all he'd wanted to do was take the duffle bag she'd held between them like a shield and toss it into the chair and pull her closer. To slip the shirt over her head, to lower those jeans until they were skin on skin. To show her that he didn't care about the BAU, that all he wanted was her.

It had taken her an inordinate amount of time to fall asleep. Her body language had told him she was nervous, aware of him the way she hadn't been since the first night they'd slept in the same bed. So he'd turned over and pretended to fall asleep so that she could.

Now she lay cuddled against him like she had every night since they'd started this…whatever it was. He ghosted one hand over the arm she'd thrown over his chest. She_hmmmed_, a sound that tightened his gut. He dropped a kiss on her hair before he even thought, the gesture meant to sooth and comfort. One he'd done to Hailey a million times.

But this wasn't Hailey, this was Emily. A world of difference, and he knew it.

SHHHH! EMILYISSLEEPING!

Emily fought the urge to open her eyes, fought the urge to tighten her arm when she felt the calloused fingers running over her skin. She couldn't resist making a sigh and her heart jumped when she felt him kiss her forehead.

It was such a comforting gesture. A normal one for a couple. She knew that, had studied every type of human relationship in her years at school. Those studies had been reinforced in her career as a profiler. It told her so much about where he was mentally. And that scared her.

She'd never cuddled with a man like him in her entire life. She should have realized earlier, Hotch _didn't _do anything without totally thinking it through. Ever. The man gave self-analysis as his middle name.

He would not have kissed her without deliberate intent. He wouldn't have done it unless he'd analyzed it to hell and back. And then done it again.

He'd meant it when he'd kissed her. And that scared the hell out of her.

TIMEISRUNNINGOUTFOREVERYONE

"Would someone care to explain what this is about?" The angry blond had every right to be angry. She'd been woken at two a.m. by a man she'd worked with once, only to be told that the Irish Mafia was gunning for her and two men she considered if not close friends, friendly acquaintances. If Ceci Hillenbrand were any other kind of woman she'd have beamed the man standing beside her in the elegantly decorated home of Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss with whatever came to hand and gone back to sleep. If she'd not seen the news of Gloria Trainers death on the TV before she'd gone to bed she would have. "Agent Morgan?"

The good looking black man was exhausted; she could see that in his eyes. The other members of this party were exhausted and worried. Ceci had read enough witnesses in her career to see that the concern was genuine.

She recognized Hotchner's ex-wife; the other blond set holding a sleeping toddler who looked enough like his father that it had to be Hotchner's son. The rest—with the exception of the ambassador—had to be Hotchner's team, plus a few extras.

It wasn't Morgan who answered, but Agent Rossi. He was the apparent host of this little shindig. "Phillip Joel O'Connor is on the loose and has already killed once. Agent Hotchner was attacked near our colleague's home five days ago. We know he's safe for now, but Gloria Trainers is dead."

"I saw that on the news, this evening. I understand there's been no leads?"

A tall brunette spoke, her body language saying she wasn't fully comfortable with the rest of the crowd. Ceci didn't think she'd been introduced. "My boss at the New York crime lab has pulled the case. So far it's stalled."

The woman threw a look at Rossi. "Until now. However, I can't get to Mac to give him the information he needs."

"Detective, I believe we've explained that." Rossi's words held irritation that no one missed. "Once we get our ducks in a row, I promise you can make that call. If I may continue…Heath Corriden has been missing for four days. We're afraid they'll be pulling his body out of the Hudson next. Leaving only…"

"Me and Hotchner alive." Ceci smacked her brandy glass down on the coffee table, causing the toddler to jerk in his sleep. Everyone paused until he quieted. "Great. Just great. So what do we do now?"

(Visit my original series: PAVAD-Prevention & Analysis of Violent Acts Division—consists of lawyers, agents, psychiatrists, cops, computer programmers, and profilers all intent on solving the most difficult and most modern of cases! (Also have free reads and excerpts on my website for the PAVAD books)


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